


Old Wounds

by Neunjapp



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-17
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-09 21:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4364159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neunjapp/pseuds/Neunjapp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The hunger games were never fair, but this year was especially cruel. When there are no careers to volunteer in her place Freya Medler is thrust into the games. District 4 is immediately disappointed, but maybe there is room for hope amidst all the fear. Maybe Freya can win, or at least die trying.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for clicking on my story! I would love to hear from you so please leave a review/follow and I'll totally give you (imaginary) cookies! Enjoy!

The square in District 4 was, in my opinion, far too small, and too close to the sea. It meant that every reaping day I not only had to worry about the chance of being forced to my death on national television, but I also had to worry about not slipping on the slimy moss that coated the ground. It was like the sea had just deposited all of it's seaweed onto the cobbled streets, and it made looking calm and collected just that bit more difficult. I walk next to my only friend in the world Clara and we quickly join hands in a desperate attempt to keep upright as we venture through the masses of people heading towards the square. "That's three now." she comments to me quietly as another kid falls. He looks about seventeen, older than most of us, so he really should take the fall with some sort of grace, but he doesn't; the second he hits the floor he's sick. We barely have time to gasp in shock before the peacekeepers have swarmed on him and pulled him off out of the view of the cameras. The commotion is met with the sounds of two adults gasping and trying to reach past the long velvet rope that separates them from us. See, that was probably the worst part of the reaping:trying to look strong for your parents. I never had to bother though, and neither did Clara, we were both from Medler house. It was District Four's community home, so we didn't have any parents to be brave for, that was probably the only advantage of the rotten place.

"Sign in here." my thoughts are broken as a peace keeper holds my wrist out for me and pricks my finger. The amount of blood it draws is minuscule but a sickly looking girl to my right turns very pale once she sees it. I really hope she doesn't get picked. After that we move on quickly and are settled into our pen. This is my second time around and Clara's third so we should be in different pens but the peacekeepers don't notice so we stay put in the thirteen year old pen because it's closer to the back so we can leave faster. "Hey," Clara nudges me to get my attention and points up at the people taking to the stage. My eyes become fixed on our escort, Marina Waters, who grins down at the square. "It's a miracle she can see out of those things." I whisper back referring to her eyelashes which extend at least thirty centimetres from her face. I wonder just how she is managing to keep her eyes open when she taps on the microphone; a terribly loud static cuts through the square which prompts a quick silence. I instinctively grab Clara's hand, she gives a small squeeze back and we wait. We wait all the way through the usual clip from president Snow, reciting a story that we already know and hold our breath as Marina steps over to the bowl. My name is in twenty five times and Clara's is in 30. It seems like a-lot because it is. If you were in a community home your name had to go in twenty times at the age of twelve and it went up by five every year. The reason was pretty simple; District 4 had plenty of volunteers, they went into the games practically every year and so most times of the year the amount of times your name went in meant nothing. And it's an easy way to get food so we did it. Still, it doesn't stop the butterflies in my stomach. Marina dips her long clawed nails into the bowl and swipes around three or four times before she grabs a slip. She walks back over to the microphone, unfolds it slowly and clears her throat before announcing,

"Freya Medler." Shit. Shit, Shit. I begin to repeat over and over again in my head. I look to Clara who has tears welling in her eyes but lets my hand go after one final squeeze, "Don't cry." She mutters quietly and I realise how close I've come. My lower lip is trembling and my hands are shaking. I force myself to stop and with a quick nod from Clara I ever so slowly move forward. Nobody will look at me as I exit my pen, nobody except for Marina who smiles widely, "Come on now!" she almost cheers from the stage. I would move faster but all of a sudden the only thing I can think about is the moss. Parents or no parents, tripping over now would be a terrible mistake so I keep my eyes trained on my feet and step carefully. It must be because I'm looking down that I bump into the girl in front of me. She's just emerged from the seventeen year old pen and by the looks of her she's shaking more than me. I look up at her and regain my balance. "I-I-" she starts looking out to her right where the adults stand. I see a few of them nod at her, their eyes urge her on harshly. "I-I..." she tries again but the words just wont form. She looks to the adults again and they look as though they want to kill her. The girl shakes her head, "I'm sorry, I can't." she says and it's barely a whisper that escapes from her throat. She steps back into the pen and I see the adults look down in shame. Some of them even step back into the crowd to hide their faces from the camera. "Right then." Marina starts, clearly flustered at that anti-climax, "Up you come." I realise she's speaking to me and I move faster now, despite the moss, and make it to the stage. As soon as I'm up she pulls me to the microphone,

"Well that was rather an exiting start wasn't it." She beams, I nod. Her eyelashes just look so heavy up close. "Come, come, tell us your name." she prompts, I lean into the microphone and speak,

"Freya Medler." I say, although I'm not sure why, everyone already knows.

"Medler that sounds familiar." She wonders out loud. I nod,

"It's the name we all get at the community home." I explain, staring at Clara for approval. She nods, barely holding back tears. I guess we both know that I'm practically already dead.

Marina smiles and asks the audience to a give a round of applause. They do, and the male tribute is selected,

"Brian Northfield." She calls and I see the sickly boy emerge from his pen. He's older than me but he looks wafer thin and pale. His parents who I briefly saw earlier let out a small sob and clutch to one another. That's why it's better for me, I think, there's nobody to leave behind. Well there is someone, I think of Clara and how we'll probably never get to talk properly to one another ever again. I think about how she's going to have to watch my death. I can't really tell who's come out of our situation worse, me or her? I don't get to think about it for long before I hear Brian hit the floor. He's fallen twice and even Marina won't help him with the pale white sick that's travelled down his shirt. I hear a disappointed sigh from behind me and turn to see Finnick Odair pinching the bridge of his nose in apparent embarrassment at his tributes for this year. I feel another emotion overwhelm my terror, it's anger. Yes, Brian was a mess if we had ever had one but he was justified in it. So I cross the stage without thinking and offer him my hand. He looks like he's about to burst into tears so I repeat Clara's words to him, "Don't cry." I'm quiet but he hears me and swallows back a wail. He takes my hand and we manage to make it back to the centre of the stage. Once I'm sure he's capable to stand I let him go and walk back over to my spot.

"How sweet." Marina cries and claps her gloved hands spurring a weak round of applause from the audience. It's drowned out mostly by the careers laughter. I would be embarrassed but my concentration is too focused , on Finnick Odair who I can see out of the corner of my eye watching me carefully, almost as if he's sizing me up. I do my best to ignore it and am grateful when the peacekeepers emerge out of nowhere to escort Brian and I into the justice building. From there we're crowded into two different rooms. I'm taken aback by how grand it is at first; the azure walls, and golden rimmed seats, but then after I've been alone long enough for my reality to sink in it just seems suffocating. There is a fish tank though which I watch to take my mind of things for a moment. I just wish I could be one of them, you know just stay in the tank, float about and not have worry about about anything. But, I am not a fish, I'm just a very, very dead girl. The tears are starting to return to my eyes when Clara bursts through the doors. The peace keeper tells us we have ten minutes so I cling to her tightly.

"You can do this." She tells me and I'm shocked at the honesty in her voice. I pull out of her embrace to tell her that there's logically no way I can but she has followed my line of thought and stops me with a shake of her head, "You're fast Freya, You- you're smart." She tells me taking one of my hands in her own and squeezes it as if that will get the message through to me. I nod along with her to make things easier on both of us. It's probably better that at least one of us gets to have hope. "You're going to beat this, I know you will." starts up again. I senselessly nod back and look back towards the fish. "I, I wish I had something to give you." She says, I look back at her and can tell she's getting a bit more panicked as our time is running out, "It's fine." I tell her and she looks up at me. "Tell me you're going to make it." she says, I start to shake my head but she digs her nails into my hands in desperation, "Tell me."

I steady my voice carefully and say it, "I'll make it." and I know it's a lie.

With that the peacekeeper renters the room and pulls Clara away from me, "I'll see you soon!" she calls over her shoulder, I watch until the last flash of her blonde hair disappears down the corridor. The door clicks closed and I'm about to cry again when it flies back open. Two complete strangers walk in and I almost tell them they've got the wrong room when I remember: the wail when Brian was called, they're his parents. They stand in silence and the mother clings to her husbands hand before he clears his throat. "I,- We" he corrects himself, "We want to thank you for what you did back there." they refer to me helping Brian up. I shake my head slightly, It was the right thing to do. "No problem." I reply, my voice sounds stronger than it should, but I guess that's a good thing in this situation. They turn around to leave when the wife suddenly speaks up, she looks twice as tearful but speaks, "I know I shouldn't ask you this but- he's my son. He's- He's all I've got-" she starts to weep again and her husband pulls her close apologising to me, "Keep him safe, please... I just don't want him to be scared when..." She begs from where she stands. I know in reality there is nothing I can do to help. There is no way to save him, even if I was a career but when someone is weeping so much you can't help but re-assure them. "He won't be." I say. It's not much, I practically just confirmed their son was going to die but I assume they already know that. They already know that we're both going to die and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it. Still I must've done something to re-assure them as they leave they thank me and leave the room.

From there I sit in silence. The visitor time is one hour in total before we board the train. I watch the fishes again


	2. Train game

I have to say the train does take my mind of things for a moment. Sure, I'll probably be dead by the end of the month but did you know this thing can travel at hundreds of kilometres and hour and absolutely nothing moves. Like seriously, nothing. I first found out when the landscape of District Four zips past the window and I wasn't even aware that the train had started up, there was no loud engine rumble or small vibrations. It was amazing. It still is, I think to myself as I pile small shot glasses, that I found on another table, on top of one another. They don't move a bit. I lean out of my chair to look over at my partner,

"Hey, Brian." I call, glancing at my small tower with pride. He doesn't turn from where he is staring out the window. I can see a small tremor return to his shoulders as we go into a tunnel. We will never see District Four again. I don't like to think about that so I reach for a grape in the fruit bowl I had been stuffing myself from and launch it at his head. It goes in the general direction but ends up splatting onto the fresh white wall in a violet smudge. "Whoops." I mutter to myself and Brian turns around. His eyes are quite puffy but he shares a small smile with me. Seeing that I've got his attention I beckon him over to sit opposite me, he complies and for a few seconds we both stare at the glass arrangement. "Freya, what are we doing?" he asks after it gets slightly awkward and I bend down to get level with the glasses, he follows my lead. "They're not moving." I whisper and he nods,

"Erm, yeah." He doesn't sound as fascinated as me so we both get up and settle into our chairs.

"I thought it was pretty cool." I mumble, a small smile returning to my face, he doesn't send one back.

"How do you do that?" he asks and I launch into telling him exactly how I made my little pyramid,

"It's pretty simple, you just find some glasses and-"

"No-" he stops me with a small shake of his head, "How is it that you're not scared." he says. I shrug and keep adding to my glass formation,

"I am. I'm actually terrified but there's no point in thinking about it." I tell him. Suddenly stacking the glasses seems like a stupid idea and I'm about to dismantle my entire structure when Marina glides into the room. I think she was originally smiling but by the time her eyes have darted from the glasses to the grape stain she's pretty mad.

"What have you done?" She starts rushing over to my side. I can't help but start to laugh as her eyelashes are shaking, they're visibly shaking with rage. My laughter doesn't do much to get her to like me but I don't really care. "Take them down. Now" She demands before her voice settles back into something a-lot more rehearsed, "We wouldn't want the glasses falling and anyone getting cut." she smiles sweetly. I scoff,

"Yeah, because a cut is really the worst thing that could happen here." I snap back. I can't stop myself because I mean we're being sent to our deaths. What I have said must've reminded Brian of our bleak prospects as he turns a shade paler once again and his green eyes widen with fear. Marina huffs and takes the glasses down for me,

"Now look at what you've done." She sighs, looking over to Brian who is shaking again. There's nothing much I can do to help so I just stalk off to another compartment in the train after I mumble a brief apology towards Brian. Only when I get out of the dining room compartment do I realise I have no idea where I am going, my room could be any number of the large dark oak doors that line the corridor. I'm in the middle of considering whether or not to turn back and ask someone for help when a blonde haired girl points towards one of the rooms further along the corridor. I nod to her in thanks rather than speaking because I know she cannot reply. Maybe the Avoxes had it worse than all of us, if my tongue was cut out I would want the Capitol dead, or myself for that matter. But they had to serve them day after day for the rest of their lives. Worse yet they couldn't even tell anyone about it. I move past her and into my room quickly before I have to look at her for much longer, I don't want her serving me. I don't want any of this. It's only when my door clicks closed that I realise I am just as scared as Brian. Shoulders shaking I make my way towards the large blanketed bed and settle onto it. I think that maybe if I lay there for long enough and close my eyes I can do it, I can sleep all of this away. It doesn't work, I can't even keep them closed for five minutes before the adrenalin kicks in. I feel completely trapped in the room, there aren't even any windows to look out of, or jump, my brain quips. No, I wouldn't jump even if I wanted to, I would come home from this, for Clara. Or I would at least make it to the Capitol for her. Yeah, I think that's the best way to approach this; one step at a time. So I make my way out of the room and head towards the roof. I recall Marina bragging that the train had open roof facilities when we were driving into the station. She had said a-lot more but I wasn't really listening as I was cramped between Brian and Finnick; two people that I didn't have the energy to speak to at the time. I breathe away that memory as I make it to the top of the stairs. It's just about turning into the afternoon, although you wouldn't know it as the sky was so bleak. In fact it was quite cold too which was unusual for the summer but the cold air helped me to concentrate, it gave me something else to focus on.

There's a small glass table with four chairs in the middle of the deck so I take a seat. Better yet the table is laid with fresh fruit just like the ones downstairs, so I begin to eat again. The circumstances were pretty awful but I do have to say the snacks were pretty great. I'm just about to reach for a particularly soft looking peach when I hear his voice,

"I hear you've made good friends with Marina." Finnick remarks, settling down into the chair next to my own. I take the peach quickly and look at it rather than him as I reply,

"We're practically sisters." Finnick doesn't say anything, he knows I'm lying

"Okay, she probably hates me." I admit looking straight ahead.

"It could be the grape throwing, or the making your district partner cry." He comments airily, not taking his eyes of me. I shrug and look up at him,

"You didn't seem to care much during the reaping." I say because it's true, Finnick had made his interest in both of his tributes pretty obvious when he sighed in discontent. He laughs slightly at my comment,

"I have a feeling you're going to hold onto that one for a long time." he notes sarcastically. I place the peach down on the table with a dull thud,

"To be honest I don't really think I have a long time to hold onto it for, so you probably don't need to worry about that." my comment puts our conversation onto a new low and I don't know what to say afterwards. Finnick, however, does,

"I wouldn't count you out that quickly." I look up at him to try and find if he's being sarcastic or if he's just lying to me. He doesn't seem to be as he looks me dead in the eyes.

"Well, not until we scope out the competition." I inwardly wince, I don't want to scope anyone out. Because that would make things a bit too real, I'm about to tell Finnick I'm fine here on the roof when he takes my hand and gently pulls me along with him to the exit. I tug back instantly and grab my peach from the table before I walk on my own pointedly by his side. I think he's smiling by the time we make it downstairs, "Half the girls in four would die to hold my hand." He gloats, receding back into the same arrogant victor I saw at the reaping. I roll my eyes and take a step further to the other side of the corridor to further prove my point, "I'm wounded." he says, holding the door to the main sitting room open. I would reply but the words dry up on my tongue as I catch Marina's glare in my direction, "You found her then." she directs to Finnick and he nods, settling onto the sofa directly beside Marina. Her anger seems to dissipate after that and she flicks the projector on quickly. I want to head towards the empty chair next to the couch because at least I'd put some distance between myself and the others but Brian looks terrible again so reluctantly I take up the space between him and the edge of the couch and wait for the commentators to begin.

I don't take any real notes the same way Marina does but quite a few of the tributes stand out; there's a girl from seven who looks like a far younger version of Joanna Mason which probably isn't a good thing for me, a boy from one who seems far too confident and obviously the pair from two who, as usual, look bloodthirsty as ever. The girl even has a long thin scar extending from her temple to just under her mud coloured eyes. I look away when she stares directly into the camera. It's stupid, I know she can't reach through the screen and kill me. But I can help but feel like she's going to be a problem for me in the arena. The arena, I hadn't even considered what it could be. Yesterday the arena was so far away from my point of view that I didn't even think it was worth imagining and now it's the place where I'm going to die. Then I think that they must be playing this clip back in Four too. That somewhere in the depths of that old rotten community home Clara must be watching the other tributes too, sizing them up against me, as Finnick said 'scoping out the competition.' I wonder if we've both come to the same conclusion: There's no way I'm making it out of this alive.

We arrive in the Capitol one day later, I missed it because I was in my room at the time, wallowing I admit. I was in the middle of trying to convince myself I might have a chance at surviving when I heard a small knock at my door. I wiped my eyes quickly and prayed they didn't look puffy before I opened the door. It was Finnick, he was the last person I wanted to see me weak so I sniff quickly and put on my best face on normality. "Yeah." I say stepping into the door frame so Finnick cannot see the piles of plates I had left strewn across the room, what could I say? I'm a comfort eater. Well, at least now I am. Back in the community home we barely got fed enough no matter how many times our names were put into the reaping.

"We've arrived." He said in a tone that was a touch too gentle, he knows exactly how much of a mess I am, so I scowl slightly in my own defence and close my door over, "I'll be five minutes." I don't give him enough time to reply before I click the door closed. It's slightly rude and I know that but I cannot afford to look weak. Weaklings never win the games, weaklings never get to come home and I have to get home. That idea spurs me on and I hop my way over the many plates towards the wardrobe. It only takes a small pull and the wardrobe bursts open in plume of sequins and sparkles. It all looks a bit too like something Marina would wear so I push them all to the side until I come towards something that looks vaguely human. It's simple, just a pair of black trousers with a soft blue jumper to go over it. It's cold and trousers are practical, I need pockets after all. I'm in and out of the room pretty quickly. Although once I've opened the door I wish I'd spent more time in the room- Finnick had been waiting outside. He starts speaking the second I emerge, about what to say, how to walk. Everything and anything to get more sponsors. I don't interrupt, every word of advice is important. By the time he's in the middle of explaining the makeover process we reach the doors of the train and the words freeze up in his mouth at the deafening roar of the Capitol at the station outside. This is unusual. And I see what looks like fear swelling up in his eyes. It's only visible for a millisecond, one of those blink and you'll miss it kind of things. But I don't blink.

Recovered almost immediately Finnick struts out of the doors. The cheering gets louder, too loud. Almost animalistic.


	3. Sand, shells and sparkles

If I thought the train was fancy, the Capitol itself was something else. Colours exploded from every crack and crevice of the city; nothing was bland or boring like Medler House back in Four. Not to mention the people. I can't even think of a way to describe them; in short, Marina's look was tame compared to some of the outfits on display there. My prep team took the prize for most over the top. They consisted of a team of six, two of whom were the most important. Uncials, a short fat green man with balding yellow hair, and Fenwick, a tall, thin, stern looking woman. At first I hated them outright after they waxed and plucked every individual hair off my body. Which hurts far more than you would think. But once the worst parts were over I began to like Uncials for the way he sort of bobbled around the room restlessly arranging dyes and combs whilst Fenwick snapped at him every now and then in her ridiculous Capitol accent. Every time she did it her head would shake with disapproval so much her wig of wiry purple curls would slide slightly further to the left. Their 'tall and small' act was some form of comic relief for me in the midst of what was probably going to be the last few days of my life. I know Clara would've laughed too.

She'll laugh when you tell her all about it. I remind myself harshly. Ever since I'd arrived in the Capitol I had decided to set upon coming home. If I was going to die I wasn't going to do it like Brian will, I will not be afraid. Well I probably will be but not showing that fear became key. So I went through the makeover with the mindset of surviving. Every time I felt like wallowing in a pit of despair I forced myself to suck it up and remember who was waiting for me at home. Especially when it came to the chariots. District 4 often went to the parade scantily clad in knots of rope. When Fenwick dropped her hands from my eyes I saw that this year that's not what was happening. It was even worse. I was stood, staring at myself naked and covered with a grand total of three large seashells and a net with a fine sprinkling of sand on my skin. The silence in the room is almost deafening until I realise my prep team are waiting on an excited squeal or nod of approval. They get none I simply look myself up and down and ask where the rest of the costume is. To this I receive a large bout of laughter which I do not join in with. Either way nobody notices my confusion as they pin my black curls tightly to my skull so that I can't even hide behind my hair. Breathe, don't cry. I remind myself and follow my team of stylists towards the door. Something of my discomfort must show on my face either way though as one of the trainee stylists hands me a robe. I nod gratefully and leave the room by their side. From there I'm escorted to the floor under the training centre which is essentially one large pen for the horses. I rush past my stylists and get to the chariot as quickly as possible before they see the robe. I'm not certain but I'm guessing they won't appreciate me hiding their hard work. I meet Brian already standing by the horses; they've had the decency to not cover him in shells, rather he's draped in net. Still he's got his chest on display, which due to it's pale, thin appearance, isn't a great sight. I pretend not to realise and instead pat our golden brown horses instead.

"I'm guessing you got it worse than I did." He mentions, looking the capitol robe up and down. I realise I'm clinging to the silken green fabric a bit too tightly. I shrug,

"You're guessing right."

His lips are about to form a response when Fenwick bursts into the space by my side. She clasps her clawed hands in tightly strained anger and whips the gown off, "Do you want sponsors or not?" She hisses into my ear and I would grace her with a response if I had the awareness to listen to her, instead I catch the scarred girl from two sniggering at me with the pair from one. I envy her silver armoured body and want more than anything to go and rip her costume off her back, along with several centimetres of her skin. Then we'd see who was laughing. Of course that doesn't happen; I just keep my eyes downcast and allow myself to be led into the back of the chariot. The music blares from behind the doors that burst open several horse lengths in front of us, along with the roars from the crowd. When I look forward it's only to try and catch a glimpse at the potential sponsors but instead I catch the eye of the girl from two again. She's laughing, almost hysterically and mouths something to me. It's impossible to make out over the sound of the crowd but it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's definitely not nice. Instinctively I scowl at her and cross my arms over my chest. She could well kill me in three days but I was determined to not look down again.

"Smile!" Fenwick forces out between gritted teeth after she delivers a quick jab to my exposed back. I jump and almost fall off the chariot as it starts to move, but I listen to her advice and force a smile onto my face. It's a smile so tight I can feel my cheeks burn. They must see how stupid this is, how stupid my stylist and prep team and outfit are. For a terrible moment I convince myself they'll all laugh at me just like the careers did. Every muscle in my body tenses the second I leave the safety of the pen, but I couldn't be more wrong about my presumptions. They shriek, some even faint at the sight of us. At first I become drunk in my small victory over the girl from two who has definitely stopped laughing. The Capitol were paying attention to me, and here attention means life. So I lap it up, and do everything I could remember seeing Finnick do. I grin and wave at them. I even start to blow kisses as we get closer to the city centre. They reach up to grab my kisses as if they are a tangible thing, and by the time we reach the city centre the girl from two is the one scowling. My small win boosts my confidence yet again and I go as far as to wink at her. But somebody else catches my wink and sends one back; an older Capitol man with wrinkled eyes and a balding head. He looks me up and down like I'm a particularly nice looking cut of meat. I don't feel nice at all, I feel like I want to jump off this chariot and flee the centre all to get away from that man's look. How could Finnick like this? But I force myself to look away from the man and ignore his gaze, instead settling my own back on the girl from two. She glares, and I smirk back.

That smirk, however, is wiped right off my face once we get off the chariot and she materialises next to where I stand as I brush down one of my horses. She's smiling slightly but I know it's just as false as my grin was when I entered the city centre.

"What?" I say, my voice impressively strong for somebody who's vital organs are all exposed to a trained killer. She steps slightly closer to where I stand but I don't back off.

"Blythe." she introduces herself and sticks out her hand. It takes a moment but I realise I'm supposed to take it so I do but it was a mistake as she squeezes it so hard I'm sure she's broken at least two bones, "My mentor told me to tell you, you can have an alliance with us." She smiles sweetly but the hatred is still present in her grey eyes. An alliance with the careers?

"You want me?" I reply, removing my hand from her grasp. She shakes her head, sending her crimped dirty blonde hair flying,

"Personally, no. But if you want to last more than the first hour..." She smirks eyeing up my jugular, "I would strongly advise it."

I have no response but it doesn't matter as she turns on her heel and returns to her team. Team. I suddenly feel the presence of my own behind me and feel grateful when they wrap me up in the silk gown again. As she reties the front I look to Marcella for approval; she gives it in the form of a small excited shriek, "They adored you Freya!" she exclaims, leading us towards the lift. That's the first time she'd actually approved of anything I'd done since the reaping. At that the rest of the prep team chipped in with various praises directed mainly at my stylists but some are for me. For a brief moment I almost feel pleased. Back in Medler house I never got any praise for anything ever. So for a second I forget that the praise is coming from the same people that will observe my murder like it's some kind of sport. But only for a second, because I doubt I could take any more pats on the backs or nods of approval in good humour when I see Brian looking so disgusted and alone in the corner of the elevator. He's not speaking but I know exactly what he's thinking, and it's probably the same thing Clara's thinking back in four after she sees what I was like in that chariot; When I die in that arena, I'll have no dignity to die out with me.

If my sudden unresponsive mood does show through, nobody cares enough to notice it. Brian doesn't make any effort to talk to me and Finnick is nowhere to be seen. I ask Marcella where he is but she just descends into an obvious blush and fans her porcelain skin, blustered that I don't already know. But now I do, and I feel even more disgusted at my mentor. At this stage I'd rather have district twelve's mentor, Haymitch Abernathy, than the Capitol's golden boy. Haymitch was drunk out of his mind most of the time but at least he was present. I guess I could always go and find Aspen, our female victor. But she's Brian's mentor and I don't want to be glared at any-more. Heading back to my room is the best and only option I have. Time becomes far longer when you're alone and with all that was going on I couldn't feel relaxed enough to sleep or occupied enough to stop over thinking everything. After only a few minutes alone I think so fast that I can barely keep up so I do what most people do and end up heading towards the shower. It feels pretty good to see the sand swirl down the drain along with other sparkles and glitter that were stuck to my body, and with the fresh scent of water lilies flooding my nostrils I force myself to switch off the lights and head to bed. I needed to sleep today off and keep moving forwards. God knows it was only going to get worse tomorrow at training. After a few excruciating hours I feel the heaviness of my thoughts slip away from my brain for a moment and I know I'm about to sleep... About to, until I feel my door being knocked from outside. It's so loud that annoyance floods through my veins. Who would come knocking on someone's door at, I check the clock on my bedside, at 2:30 AM? If it was Brian he could take his high and mighty judgement elsewhere. I force my eyes closed and roll over to face the wall in defiance. I know he won't be able to see it but the idea of pissing him off provides me with enough comfort to ebb my way back to the warm fuzzy zone I was in before. That is until I hear a small pip, and the sound of my door sliding open. Nobody else but myself and the avoxes had the code.

My body reacts before my voice and I'm bolt upright in my bed before I can yell at the intruder. His shape isn't difficult to make out, it was postered on almost every add and magazine in the Capitol. I slump back and cross my arms,

"You're a little late." I say, not bothering to hold back the irritation in my voice. Finnick stops for a moment then flicks on the lights. I squint through it at him and resist the urge to yell. There was no way I was getting any sleep now. The only advantage of the light was that I could actually see him now rather than a blurry shadow. His shirt is creased, his hair looks a mess and I can see he's got a fresh cut on his lip. But that's not what my brain hops to first, it's the anger locked tightly into his jaw.

"Finnick?" I start but he interrupts me as he closes the door behind him and crosses the room to where I'm sat so I keep silent and let him speak,

"What the hell did you just do?" He starts, pacing the length of my room. I can smell the alcohol off him from here,

"The chariots?" I say, creasing my brow in confusion, he stops moving,

"I know that. I'm talking about what you did." I look even more confused so elaborates,

"You went out practically naked-" he starts and despite the glint of genuine worry in his expression, I scoff, looking him up and down,

"That's rich coming from you."

The irritation returns to his face and he comes closer, so that I can see the dark circles forming under his eyes,

"You have no idea what you're talking about Freya-"

"I know that you couldn't be bothered to show up to the chariots because you were too busy with some Capitol woman that gave you the eye, I know that you haven't done anything useful as a mentor since we got here, and I know that you're not exactly the authority on decency!" I say, letting all my stress and confusion out in one burst. I expect Finnick to yell or something because I'd never spoken to an adult like that before back at Medler house without getting screamed at or worse. But he doesn't, instead his face crumples for a moment before he turns to me again speaking like what he's saying is the most important thing I will ever hear,

"Once you choose who you are you can't go back. They're always going to see you like they did tonight, that's never going to stop." He says and I can't see what he means,

"They liked me tonight. That means I might get a sponsor-" I say but instead of looking supportive Finnick looks more and more distant... he looks frightened, and that terrifies me even more than the girl from two, "Sponsors are good, right?" I finish and don't receive a reply. That makes it worse and I can't help but feel like I've just made a massive mistake but then something positive springs to my mind,

"The careers want an alliance with me. That's got to be something I did right?" I say, trying to stare a positive attitude into Finnick. For a moment I think it's going to work but his expression only changes from worry to complete focus as he places his hands on my shoulders,

"Listen to me, everything you do now has to be innocent. Okay? No more shells or kisses or anything." He instructs. I put it down to him being under the influence, I mean everyone else was so pleased with the reaction... well except for Brian and possibly Clara. No, it worked and it's going to keep working just like it did for Finnick. Despite this I nod anyway to get him to let go of my shoulders but he only squeezes tighter,

"Ow!" I complain, tugging back,

"You're lying. Swear to me-"

"Get off my shoulders you-"

"Swear." He repeats and I do,

"Fine, I swear." I lie, and he lets me go. A terribly awkward silence descends on us and I force myself to break it,

"If you're going to get me to do this, you have to do something too-" I say, starting to bargain. A cocky smile slips back onto Finnick's face and I'm glad to not have to suffer his erratic mood again, even if this persona doesn't seem one hundred percent genuine,

"-And what would that be?" He says, my answer is immediate,

"Swear you'll get me back to four-" I think for a second whilst the smile drops from his lips, "-That doesn't include in a coffin, or an urn." I correct. The playfulness has left the conversation once Finnick replies,

"You know I can't do that." He says simply, standing back up to his full height and heads towards the door. Tears prick my eyes at the lack of any regret or sadness in his voice. He's probably used to his tributes not always making it home. Especially if they were like me. Not a career or volunteer. I'm waiting for him to leave so that I can cry myself out but he stops with his hand over the light switch.

"But I'm going to try everything I can." he says and switches out the light. Still I'm not content so I whisper through the darkness,

"Promise?"

The reply is instant and there's no forced charm detectable,

"Promise."


End file.
